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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690965">Stitched In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoCerberus/pseuds/PseudoCerberus'>PseudoCerberus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Batjokes, Bruce visits John Doe in Arkham, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Obsession, Sexual Content, Strange Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:34:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoCerberus/pseuds/PseudoCerberus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Both had betrayed the other, yet, somehow, both forgave the other too; perfectly aware that the madness lived in and outside Arkham.  John had waved an uncertain hand: ‘I love you.’  The words stayed with Bruce.  Fevered him.  Nourished him.  <em>Haunted him.</em>  Then, he spent a lot of money fixing a moment that John may choose to reject.  </p><p>Bruce Wayne visits John Doe in Arkham. One-shot. </p><p>WARNING: scenes of a sexual nature.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker/Batman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stitched In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was partly written as a gift, and partly as self-indulgence.  Which I am unapologetic for.  Although I don’t think this scene is a likely scenario it was fun to write and I think evocative of Bruce and John’s - Batman and Joker’s - strange, volatile and weirdly intimate relationship.  I would have loved this option in the game (thank you Telltale – I hope you make more).</p><p>For further indulgence, I recommend listening to this track, which I am sure you will love:</p><p>‘Unusual Way’, by JOHN BARROWMAN</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijPnnaYxdWU</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘I’ve just been sitting here in the dark until you came in.’</p><p>The words made a chill spread from Bruce’s belly through his body and out along every raised hair.  A chill and a cold hatred.  John was breaking his heart.  A liar, a coward and now a murderer…and yet there was something.  Something vulnerable that he ached for…something monstrous that he <em>burned</em> for.  John was a god damn weakness.  He felt Batman’s glare disturb the fringes of his thoughts.  The guilt was for him.  The guilt was for John.  The guilt was for every messy, loathsome insect that belonged to the human race.</p><p>‘You DO believe me?  Don’t you?’  </p><p>He had seen Batman.  He had recognised a darkness within him that he barely recognised himself, and he rejoiced in it.  It disgusted Bruce, it frightened him. <em>It...thrilled him.</em></p><p>‘Please BELIEVE me!’</p><p>
  <em>Break the stitch.</em>
</p><p>‘Please! Bruce!’</p><p>
  <em>Coward.</em>
</p><p>‘I am SORRY! Please!’</p><p>
  <em>…I stopped only when I was safe.</em>
</p><p>‘I believe you’.</p><p>John looked astonished.  ‘You do?’</p><p>The guilt weighed heavy in his chest, like something dead and dirty dragging new life down into the slime of a well.  Without looking at John, he nodded.</p><p>‘OH! BRUCE!’</p><p>John had thrown his arms around him.  Squeezing him with a desperation that reminded Bruce of an abused child wringing forgiveness from a parent.  He broke and then suddenly, without realising how or why it happened, he was kissing him.  Fiercely, urgently and without remorse.  John was the first to pull away.</p><p>The diamond-patterned shirt, stained with the foul rust of other peoples’ blood, rose and fell.  The black eyes, round and inscrutable, watched him with an intensity that burned.  Bruce almost looked away.  As much as he tried, he could not read those eyes.  At first, they looked angry, like Bruce had betrayed or tricked them, then they looked greedy, and now they looked confused.</p><p>‘Why are you <em>crying</em>?’  John hesitantly looked around at the corpses he had help make.</p><p>Finding his voice, Bruce trembled: ‘It’s complicated.’</p><p>Slowly John nodded like he understood.  ‘Two threads in the SAME stitch…<em>boy</em>…do you want to do it again?’</p><p>‘No.  We need to – ’</p><p>‘STOP Harley!  I am on it Bruce!’ and John sprung towards the door like a spaniel ordered by the huntsman.  ‘Come on Bruce!  <em>I’ve got this!’</em></p><p>Of course, John hadn’t got this, or even had it.  John lost it.  He lost his friends, his freedom and a little more of his sanity.  Yet, despite breaking it, he didn’t lose Bruce’s heart. </p><p>Both had betrayed the other, yet somehow, both forgave the other too.  Perfectly aware that the madness lived in and outside Arkham.  Within the inmates, but also in the hypocrisy of the system.  Where the doctor’s son got away with rape, and the junkie’s daughter was accused of dropping her panties.  </p><p>Bruce had fought tooth and nail to get John in the Asylum, and not to let him be swallowed up, soundlessly, in the unseen corners of the Agency.  It was his last conversation with Waller.  Caged or killed: he wouldn’t put anything past Waller.</p><p>That night was carnage, and so much of it was John.  The victims of a crazed madman had piled up so quickly, and yet, when he visited John for that first time after the event…he had been John, just John.  Sweet, and uncertain and surreal.  Bruce had mostly sat and listened to him babble: they were only allowed a shower every other day, and this bothered John, some of the inmates he could talk to, others were too loud, he liked watching cartoons on the T.V, but they weren’t like they used to be…just silly things, really.  </p><p>When his time had been up and he was at the door, John had waved an uncertain hand and said: ‘I love you.’</p><p>His voice had been quiet, yet urgent, and phrased slightly like a question too.</p><p>Bruce hadn’t said it back.  Words said on the inside of your brain are tangent to cowardice.  <em>Coward.</em></p><p>The words had stayed with Bruce.  Fevered him.  Nourished him.  <em>Haunted him</em>.  Then he spent a lot of money fixing a moment that John may choose to reject.  <em>Was it right?  Selfish?...Did it matter?</em></p><p>***</p><p>The steady clip of heals led Bruce to John’s room.  John knew he was coming, but didn’t know why.  That this day was special, if he so chose.</p><p>Supervised by the doctor, the guard gave Bruce a panic button.  ‘Any trouble: you press that.’</p><p>Bruce nodded in thanks and slipped the plastic control into his coat pocket.  In the other pocket was a tube of lubricant.  He hadn’t told the doctors why this day was special, just that he wanted a meeting with John to be as private as possible.  He had paid a lot for this, after all.</p><p>He was inside John’s cell.  The door locked with a click.</p><p>The man in patient attire was sat on his bed, looking like he was about to take an exam.</p><p>‘Hi Bruce!’ the jester’s voice tinkled.</p><p>‘Hi, John.’</p><p>Bruce pulled the chair that had been left for him closer to the man on the bed.  He took a long, uneven breath before he spoke: ‘I’ve spent a lot of money for this moment, John.  That doesn’t matter – but.  Life is about moments.’   Bruce undid the first three buttons of his shirt.  ‘Do you want this moment, John?’</p><p>The glitter in the black eyes widened.  Completely unreadable.  Finally, John leaned forward, hands bouncing as he clasped them.  A little too smugly he spoke: ‘I <em>CAN’T tell</em> until you take your shirt off.’</p><p>A prick of anger sad oddly with the anticipation churning about Bruce’s belly.  There was melancholy too.   It wasn’t because he was exposing his body, he had a beautiful body, but he was exposing himself.  He would be so mad if John threw this back in his face.  </p><p>As commanded Bruce discarded the shirt.  There was a giggle, quickly stifled, and the glitter: that scrutinised him like he was some priceless marble in the Louvre.  Bruce didn’t know what to make of the silence, so he took a chance and slowly took every item of clothing he had on off; coming to stand like an Olympian in the centre of the room.  The Poseidon-blue eyes were serious and the sharp nostrils flared.  The man’s aura seemed to fill every inch of the space, taking command of it, inviting, yet, fully prepared to face rejection.</p><p>With his eyebrows a scribble of muddled scepticism, John slowly got up from the bed, bringing his right hand to his chin and looking very much like a late century professor scrutinising a problem.  ‘Presume much…’ he muttered, inspecting Bruce.</p><p>A chill immediately spread from his navel, and Bruce made to grab his clothes.  ‘I’ll get dressed!’  His voice was panicked, then defeated: ‘Or I can just leave.  I-I am sorry John.’  Eyes dropped mournfully to the floor, murmuring: ‘You said you loved me’.</p><p>Springing up straight like a jack-in-the-box, John began narrating his thoughts as though he had not heard him.  ‘It is like showing an interest in TEDDY BEARS and then some <em>guy</em> BUYING YOU a stuffed GRIZZLY!  0 to 50, BOOM!...or…having one of those <em>desserts</em> offered to you that the super-rich only ever get to eat, <em>you know</em>, covered in glitter and gold and …<em>do I want to eat it? </em>  I DON’T KNOW!...But on the other hand…<em>will I regret it if I don’t!...if I let the opportunity pass me by?’</em> </p><p>The spindly hands articulated beside each pallid ear, the long face pulling a bewildering diversity of expressions.  Suddenly the T-shirt was flung.  John seemed to have made up his mind.</p><p>‘John, you really don’t have to…’ but John ignored him, flinging his shorts, his briefs, but keeping his socks on.</p><p>‘OK BRUCE! So, what do I do?’  The yellow grin stretched wide.</p><p>‘Erm, just – just –’</p><p><em> ‘Be myself?’</em> the fool said casually.</p><p>‘Exactly!’</p><p>Clammy fingers creeped along his collar bone, and down his chest, and across his nipple, and over each swell of his quivering abs.  Watching beneath the tiger-tight waist, John exclaimed clownishly: ‘Woo-ha-<em>hooo</em>!’ </p><p>Bruce’s body had quite clearly responded to the pallid hands’ administrations, and the blood rushing to his groin made his flesh tingle with the heat.  His brain felt like it was tripping, but John was still flaccid.  The white knees bent and John’s face was now looking up at him like a mechanic reviewing a car engine.  <em>Is he going to?</em>  Tensing his body, Bruce readied himself.  The excitement frothed in every nerve; from his brain to his toes.  He was shaking.  Finished with his inspection, John took his middle finger and placed it under his thumb, and, bringing his hand tenderly under Bruce, flicked his ball sack.  Bruce howled – but the manic laughter eclipsed him.</p><p>
  <em> ‘What the hell!’</em>
</p><p>John, naked a part from his socks, was paralytic with snorts, and giggles, and hisses.  Then the wild gesticulation of hands poked inside Bruce’s bellybutton.  </p><p>Wayne’s face boiled red and quite unconsciously he drew back his elbow and loaded his fist into John’s laughing face.  The skimpy man went flying, tripped and fell onto the bed with a lively creak of springs.  The jester revolved to face him, his eyes a frenzy of arousal, and rage, and – <em>terror</em>.  Red dripped down the nose and off his crooked chin.</p><p>‘YOU INVITED ME?!’ he shrieked.</p><p>Outrage now seizing his limbs, John made towards him. ‘– SET SOME FUCKING BOUNDARIES WHY DON’T YOU!’  Bruce let John hit him full in the face.  His own blood now ran onto his chest too.</p><p>An uncontrollable feeling seized Bruce and, like a man possessed, he grabbed John by the hair and crushed him to his lips in a vicious kiss.  The metallic tang was ambrosia.  For a moment John kissed him back, and then he began drumming his hands on his shoulders, trying in vain to throw off the iron-beast. </p><p>The conflict in Bruce’s head finally caused him to let go, and taking three heavy steps backwards he gasped: ‘I am sorry.  John?’</p><p>John screamed and made to hit him.  He ducked and his left hand automatically grabbed hold of the sweaty, lizard-green hair, bringing John’s forehead into contact with the metal bar at the back of the bed.  Before John could come to his senses Bruce seized him in a fierce hug.  Eventually the ragged breaths subsided, and the sticky limbs ceased to battle him.</p><p>‘Harder,’ said John.</p><p>Bruce obeyed and squeezed the fine arms against the man’s ribs; pronounced and undulating like a greyhound. </p><p>‘HARDER!’</p><p>Glistening biceps contracted.  The thighs ensnaring the bone-puppet body like a spider’s mandibles around a pale moth.  Trapping John’s heat between them.  Bruce, some fairy tale golem bending metal at a devil-flame forge.</p><p>‘They’re you go Bruce!’ John choked.  ‘I knew you had it in you.’</p><p>‘I am crushing you.  You’re struggling to breathe.’</p><p>John shook his head, eyes closed.  ‘Just a little while longer,’ he whispered.</p><p>Bruce kept hold, stiff and rigid until he felt John’s head fall gently to one side.</p><p>‘John?  <em>JOHN!’ </em></p><p>The eyes, usually round and lunatic-black, were a gentle shade of green as John slid them open.  ‘I was going to sleep,’ he said, a little accusingly. </p><p>Softly, Bruce let his muscles relax and gently took John’s head in his hands.  Hesitating, until he had permission to cradle him.  ‘John…I did not intend for that.’</p><p>A giggle rose up from the jester’s throat.  ‘Well you should have known by now!  <em>Friend!’</em>  Joker rolled his eyes towards Bruce’s phallus that was stubbornly proud, rock-hard and hot.  <em> ‘I don’t think friends are supposed to have those!’</em>  Bruce looked away, sorrowfully shamefaced. </p><p>John’s savage teeth turned into a genuine smile.  ‘You’re one messed up guy, Bruce.’ </p><p>The aristocrat nodded in agreement, to ashamed to look John Doe in the eyes.</p><p>John cackled: ‘I love you.’</p><p>Bruce nodded again.</p><p>‘NO! For <em>god sake</em> – say it!’ the Joker’s voice chimed.</p><p>Bruce’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.</p><p>Disgusted, John made Bruce look at him.  ‘<em>Uuuurrrgh! </em> COME ON!’</p><p>Like waves crashing through still water, anger broke the sadness in his eyes.  The cool blue sharpened.  With effort, and with his face mirroring John’s in a fretted jumble of emotion, Bruce eventually spoke: ‘I love you.’  </p><p>Stinging blue became slits.  The face crumpled.  ‘There John.  Now, what are you going to do with it?’  His voice was sour.</p><p>Victorious, John placed his hands behind his head and shuffled himself until he was comfortable in the tangle of limbs that had asked to cradle him.  His smile was serene and he closed his eyes like he had just completed a major project, and was now taking time to bask in his achievement.  Sighing, he admitted: ‘Nothing.  There is nothing I can do…’</p><p>The two men lay for a while.  John never lifted a finger, while Bruce carefully stroked what he could see.  The forehead, the arms, the bone-china chest, the soft flesh under the chin; he touched and identified.  Curious fingertips making circles like he was discerning some secret language in the pale flesh.</p><p>Wide lips quivered as John wavered between serene-feeling and self-satisfaction.  His smugness incensed Bruce as much as it aroused him. </p><p>Complacently, John asked: ‘So, this is my special day – is it?’</p><p>Dishevelled black hair moved up and down in confirmation. </p><p>‘You’ll do <em>anything? </em>’ John sneered, letting the syllables linger.  <em> ‘Is that it Bruce!’ </em></p><p>Bruce nodded.  </p><p>John rocked slightly in the muscle-firm lap, chuckling.  Without apology he made his demand: ‘Make me fly!’ </p><p>Bruce considered the request, and tentatively nodded again.  Standing, he tenderly pulled John up with him, and, questioningly, drew back his fist.</p><p>‘NO!’ cried John, lowering the tightened knuckles with his hand.  ‘Make me FLY, Bruce,’ he said calmly.  ‘Make me <em>float</em> like I am a feather floating on the surface of all those noisy, <em>tiresome</em> thoughts.’</p><p>Enthusiastically Bruce nodded, having understood John’s request.  Taking him by the hands he led John to his bed, and, while coming to lie on his back, he simultaneously pulled John up on top of him.  Placing both soles of his feet either side of John’s pelvis, and one hand directly in the centre of his chest, he gradually extended his limbs and lifted John high into the air.  With his free arm he found the place beneath John’s tummy.  His penis was like the rest of him: long, reedy and not wide enough.  In this moment it was also encrusted with blood.  Droplets they had bled mutually.</p><p>Sweat mixed with blood and breath mixed with ecstasy, as Bruce worked his hand for the both of them.  Enjoying John’s body as if it were his own.  Unaware of the grunts leaving his chest, Bruce looked up into the face that had murdered Waller’s people.  He had never seen it look as young, or so care free.  Eyes closed. Mouth open.  All trace of wickedness gone. The face suffered the pleasure of angels as they surrender themselves to heaven.  </p><p>John was flying.</p><p>Crashing in the blindness of celestial love, John felt himself fall once more to Earth and on top of the man made of metal; of devil sinew and pools of sweat like microcosmic lakes of fire.  In rapture, John lay on top of the panting man, who rudely pushed him to the side as he staggered to a corner.  Frisking himself like a beast, Bruce finished off.  John observed all this with cynical voyeurism.  He loved the effect he had on Bruce.  It was a power all of its own.</p><p>His head was silent, so, so was he.  He watched Bruce with a new kind of clarity, as he did his best to wipe the blood off himself, dressed like he had never taken his clothes off, and feverishly sprayed himself with cologne.  John could smell it was expensive.</p><p>‘If I ever get out of here.  <em>God. </em>  I am going to make you work for it.’</p><p>Standing tall, Bruce looked him in the eye and for the last time nodded.  With great sadness he said his farewell: ‘Goodbye John.’</p><p>John said nothing, but simply watched Bruce Wayne as he left his room and went out to a guard he had summoned with the control in his coat pocket.  With a twitch of the head, Bruce almost turned around, but he didn’t.  Instead he tightened his jaw and forced himself to walk forward and into the fizzing light of the Asylum’s many angled corridors.</p><p>The stitch was <em>far</em> from broken.</p><p>The heavy door clicked shut and John rolled back onto his bed.  He looked at the now vacant chair that had slid askew when Bruce had launched.  Savouring every last moment of Bruce’s gift, he lay as still as he could.  His limbs, the contours of his chest, the gaunt cheeks: all fizzed.  He let his eyes lose focus in the ceiling.</p><p>Low, and devilishly soft Joker murmured: ‘See you around…<em>Batman!’ </em></p>
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